


Working on Empty

by bookworm213



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Food Issues, Mostly Fluff, Other, din also kinda sucks at taking care of himself, din loves the child, hunger, slight angst, spoilers for season 2 episode 11, the child loves din
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm213/pseuds/bookworm213
Summary: But having another living thing on the ship complicated things in more ways than one. It wasn’t only that the child needed to be kept fed, the child could barely be left out of his sight for fear of being lost, captured, or accidentally pressing the wrong button on the control pad (Din had reprimanded the kid nearly a thousand times, and had pretty much given up on hoping he would finally learn). That left the window for mealtimes increasingly limited, and some days almost nonexistent.Spoilers for Chapter 11.
Relationships: Din Djarin and the Child
Comments: 18
Kudos: 264





	Working on Empty

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the latest episode yesterday, and that part were Din refuses food got the gears in my head turning. This drabble was the result!
> 
> I adore comments and kudos!!

His helmet was a part of him. He knew every smooth ridge of metal, every scrape and dent it had accumulated over years and years of damage. The way it had been made for every groove and line of his face, feeling like a second skin.

He never took it off, not in front of anyone. No one could be allowed to see his face.

This was the way. The only way. 

However, this made supposedly simple tasks, such as eating, more difficult than one might expect. Being unable to remove his helmet in public ensured that Din kept mealtimes strictly private, scarfing down the dried, often stale food he kept in the pantry on the Crest. He didn’t much mind the quality of the food: he was usually more focused on hunting his next quarry, or making sure he got his quarry to the drop-off point in one piece, than the quality of the food he ate. As long as it kept his body running, he could hardly be bothered to care.

With the child on his ship though, things had changed. 

Din had begun stocking the ship with whatever fresh food he could manage to find from the markets on whatever planet they were passing. It wasn’t for him; he could still do with whatever stale bread or meat that he had been eating before. But the child needed to eat better than him. The kid was almost always hungry, and Din needed to constantly stop the kid from hunting down frogs, or anything else that was able to fit into his mouth.

But having another living thing on the ship complicated things in more ways than one. It wasn’t only that the child needed to be kept fed, the child could barely be left out of his sight for fear of being lost, captured, or accidentally pressing the wrong button on the control pad (Din had reprimanded the kid nearly a thousand times, and had pretty much given up on hoping he would finally learn). That left the window for mealtimes increasingly limited, and some days almost nonexistent. 

Not that Din wasn’t used to going without food. His family had been poor when he was a child, and he’d often went to bed without anything to quiet his stomach. Even after he’d been inducted into the Mandalorian order, resources had been scarce: they were forced to hide away in sewers and cramped places, away from prying eyes and those who would seek to slaughter the last of them after the destruction of their planet. 

So he’d learned to ignore the hunger, that sharp, aching twist in his stomach, and push it to the back of his mind. The child came first now, before anything else, and it was his duty, by creed, to care for it above himself.

This was the way.

————————————-

“These seats are scarce, buddy. Everyone seated needs to eat.”

“I can buy something else,” he says insistently, sliding a group of coins across the table towards the barkeeper. “Information.”

Still, the mention of food had triggered a winding pain in the depths of his stomach. The addition of an added passenger, barely escaping the frozen planet with their lives, and finally limping his beyond-damaged ship to this planet had ensured things like eating had become a non-priority for him. So that made . . . two days? Maybe more. 

Still, the hunger didn’t mean much to Din. As long as the child was fed, and he was pointed in the direction of more of his kind, then he had accomplished what he needed to do.

“Don’t play with your food.” Din absently poked the squid-creature with his knife, sending it slithering back into the bowl of chowder in front of the child. The child looked incredulously at him, and Din allowed himself a small smile beneath his helmet.

————————————

“I finally know where I’m taking you, but it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

He wasn’t wrong. The ship kicked and bumped every five seconds, sounding like it was about to break into pieces. It was going to be a long ride. 

Din glanced to his right. The child had fallen asleep in the chair, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. Underneath the helmet, Din could feel his own eyelids drooping as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had proper rest. 

Slowly, he flipped the autopilot switch on, pleased when it whirred to life properly, and let the controls drop from his hands. He leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes, hoping to get at least an hour of shuteye before having to steer again. Surprisingly, the constant bumping of the ship provided an almost soothing lull as he allowed his body to relax.

His mind drifted, then darkened. He wasn’t sure how long he slept before the gentle cooing in his ears and a new weight in his lap brought him back to reality. 

The child had crawled into his lap and was absently playing with the shiny metal ball, rolling it from hand to hand. He looked up at him and gave another coo, his mouth opening into a lopsided smile with his tiny teeth showing.

Well, at least he wasn’t touching anything. Din sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes again. Once again, the rhythmic bumping of the ship mixed with the new sound of the child’s cooing nearly lulled him back into sleep.

Until his stomach growled.

His eyes snapped open again, and Din ran a hand over the front of his helmet and groaned at the sudden reminder. Right, food. Had it been three days now, or more than that? Either way, the reminder had brought the ache in his stomach to the forefront of his mind, where before he had barely felt it.

The child looked startled by the sudden noise and movement, and looked up at Din questioningly. He dropped the metal ball from his hands and clamored up Din’s lap, looking him in the eyes and bringing his tiny hands up so they were close to his mouth.

“What, you’re hungry?” Din recognized the gesture, shifting his weight and preparing to scoop the child up to go in search of food for him. 

The child let out a low whine, bringing his hands down from his mouth in order to press them into Din’s chest plate. The child looked . . . worried? Almost?

Another growl from his stomach, louder than the first, and realization dawned on him. “Oh . . . me.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m fine, kid. Don’t worry about me.”

The child whined again, banging his hands against the chest plate again.

“I can’t leave you in here, kid.” His tone was firm, but the aching discomfort in his stomach was becoming more than he could ignore. His temples were starting to pound a little, and the child was still wining, alternating between tapping his chest and bringing his hands up to his mouth. 

Ugh. If the child was just going to keep doing this, then he might as well eat real quick. He didn’t think the child would stop otherwise.

Din’s stomach growled again, and he scooped the child up and stood from his seat. He placed him on the passenger chair.

“I’ll be back in a second. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

The child squeaked, but remained where he was. Din headed for the door to the cockpit, disappearing into the main bridge of the ship. 

Under his helmet, he grimaced when he saw, once again, just how bad the state of the Crest was. Bits of seaweed still clung to the rafters, and the ship smelled unpleasantly of salt and oily sea creatures. At least the ship was pressurized again, though Din doubted that most of his food had even survived the disastrous journey. 

He opened the pantry halfheartedly, and to his surprise, there was still a package of dried meat that had managed to stay in place. Good, because as he was quickly realizing that he needed food and he needed it soon.

His stomach continued to ache, his head was swimming slightly, and when he lifted his hand to his face, he noticed the fingers were trembling slightly.

Damn. Maybe the kid did have a point. 

Din grabbed the package, relieved to see that it was miraculously dry after the ship’s unexpected descent into the ocean. He glanced around him, making sure the child didn’t decide to follow him out of the cockpit, before he finally removed his helmet. 

The stale, but cool circulated air of the ship tickled his face, a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. Still, he felt naked, vulnerable, and he quickly tore open the package, grabbing a thick piece of dried meat and sinking his teeth into it. 

It was dry, and tasted slightly stale, but it was food, and Din hand’t realized the true extent of his hunger until the first bite was past his lips. He ate hurriedly, not wanting to risk leaving the child alone for too long, and was grateful when he felt the trembling in his hands ease and the deep gnawing in his stomach quieting. 

Soon, the food was gone and he felt . . . not full, entirely. But better, less sluggish, less lethargic. He mentally cursed himself as he once again returned to the safety of his helmet over his face. He shouldn’t have forgotten to eat for so long. How could he protect the child if he was weak from hunger? He resolved to replenish their food supply as soon as they were able to dock again, permitting the ship didn’t almost explode again on reentry.

When he entered to cockpit again, and child was still in the seat where he’d left him, miraculously not having touched anything while he was gone. The kid looked at him questioningly, almost suspiciously, and Din threw his hands up. 

“I ate kid, I promise, don’t look at me like that!” 

This seemed to satisfy the child, who settled back against the seat with a happy coo. Din scooped the child up as he headed back to the pilot’s chair, settling into in again and placing the child on his lap. 

He did . . . feel much better actually. He hadn’t realized just how much the hunger had been affecting him these last few days. From the way the child was eyeing him, Din sensed that maybe he had been more aware of it than he was.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll eat more often kid, didn’t mean to scare you. You know I can’t eat in front of you though, so just don’t touch anything while I’m gone.” The child made another happy, cooing noise, before nuzzling up against his ribs. Din allowed a grin to spread across his face, once agin hidden by the mask.

“Thanks, kid.”


End file.
